ArchivedLogs:Look What Followed Me Home!

Look What Followed Me Home!
(Can we keep her?)
Dramatis Personae Micah, Jackson, Sugar
In Absentia	22 June 2013 Giant Dragonfly + Roof = WHAT DO? (Set directly after birthday dinner.)
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain. One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. There is still a table set for two (though long since used and abandoned) on the rooftop as the deep hours of Friday night wend their way into the wee-smalls of Saturday morning, passing the torch of days somewhere in the semi-dark of the city. A cooler containing what are, very likely, the rather wilted remnants of a salad is still tucked beneath said table. Micah and Jax had wandered their way downstairs, one with arms full of casserole dish with cake box stacked on top and the other with a string of lights and small metalwork sculptures to juggle. Every intention had been to return for a second trip of carrying items back to the apartment, but. Things. Are sometimes distracting. For several hours. And so it is late when Micah pushes the door to the roof open again. He is now in a plain white T-shirt over a pair of black sleepwear pants dotted with little confused-looking kodamas, and padding along in bare feet. “Ohgosh, I forgot. We left the salad up here, too. It is probably sad-lad now,” he jokes a little sleepily (sleepiness results in bad jokes, apparently) as he makes his way to the table to begin gathering dishes. Jackson has soft purple yoga pants, no shirt, bare feet, too. “-- Ohh whoops. Uh. Yeah it was really hot um. I don’t think even the cooler will have saved that very much.” He leaves the dishes to Micah, stooping to drag the cooler back out from under the table. “Sad-lad, I /think/,” he adds, “that it is past your /bedtime/.” Micah scrapes all of the food remnants onto one plate, then piles silverware on top. It makes a neat little bundle for transport. The process is quick enough to leave time for observing Jax in his cooler retrieval. “Hmm…bedtime. I promise not to fuss if that means you’re /joinin’/ me,” he asserts with a grin. Jackson tucks the cooler under one arm, against his hip. “You? Not fuss?” He looks a liiiittle skeptical, eyebrows raising. “How long’a while d’you think that’ll last?” There’s an amused smile, though, lingering on his face. “/Definitely/ joinin’ you, though. Even if s’getting hot enough I think soon we might hafta ban any kind of touching till fall. Sharing body heat is for folks with air conditioning.” Micah pulls a very /effective/ pouty-face at the accusations of fussiness! Though it is an affected sort of expression, since the accusation is an objectively fair one. “I s’pose I meant t’say I won’t fuss about /sleepin’/,” he clarifies, wearing a grin again. “An’ that’ll prob’ly last until I wake up again...or thereabouts.” He giggles at the lamentations of /hot/. “At least some good can come of my hands always bein’ freezin’ then? Portable coolin’ unit.” He wiggles the pinkie fingers of each hand, as the rest are occupied by holding dishes. “Can’t hardly believe Georgia-boy here is complainin’ on /Northern/ summers, though.” The observation comes paired with a slow headshake. So sad. “Don’t worry,” Jackson says cheerfully, “I complain like crazy ‘bout the Southern summers, too. /All/ the summers. I’m terrible at thermoregulating so I hate /all/ extremes’a temperature equal.” His hand reaches out to nab Micah’s wiggling pinkie finger in his own overhot fingers. “Actually, if y’give me a proper warm-up period, I could probably complain about just about /anything/.” He says this with an alarming amount of /cheer/; it’s hard to imagine the complaining would be very intensive. “Hmm…I mostly just don’t do well in the cold. Okay with hot until it’s /crazy-hot/.” Micah’s fingertip is a bit chill to the touch, as advertised. “That means I can touch if I want, right?” Squirmyfinger. Arched eyebrow. “Really anythin’, hm? Should I take that as a challenge?” She'd been circling in the dark for a long time. Her master had been captured hours ago, and Sugar was beside herself with worry. Even as simple as her mind was, she knew to try and find help. And that simplicity helped her decide. She had only had one other rider in all these years. She retraced steps, following scents as best she could, lost and found it again several times, and has been circling above the building for a while before the men reemerge on the roof. She swoops down for a closer look, her alternating wings sounding something like a far away helicopter. Not /too/ obnoxious a noise. FUPfup FUPfup FUPfup She trots to a halt on the roof, far away from the men, cautious and if such a creature can have body language, her posture is weary and sad. It looks like she wants to approach, but isn't sure. “S’a challenge if you want it to be,” Jackson answers with a laugh. “-- that’s actually why I’m dating you, you know. Compatible body temperatures. You can cool me off till fall and in winter I’ll keep you --” The beating of wings distracts him, tipping his head up -- then over, peering through the semi-dark of city-nighttime. Cloudy no-stars no-moon but yellowish streetlamp light washed up from the streets below. His eyes have less trouble than most picking Sugar’s figure out of the sky as she lands, and his fingers tighten around Micah’s pinkie, then drop it. “-- /Um/,” is his initial reaction, a little stunned-blank, and then at a delay, a bemused: “-- Sugar?” “Hm. Y’know, I’m not sure how to take that, since you /already/ said you were datin’ me for my fire safety trainin’. So…my job is to keep you from overheatin’ /or/ settin’ things on fire. Sure you ain’t gonna replace me with a block of ice?” Micah teases with a smirk. “An’ y’know I like a chall—“ It’s about this time that helicopter-wing-sounds make themselves readily apparent, strangling the word as it forms. Micah immediately looks up, like a good D&D party member. “Me’n my big mouth,” comes with the appropriate heavy sigh. “Sugar, meanin’ giant-dragonfly Sugar. With the lady what allegedly blew up City Hall Sugar? Ohman, this can’t be a good sign.” So much so, that he has abandoned his stack of dishes back to the table. Sugar folds her iridescent blue wing back along her blue-black body, and peers at the two men with her massive, bulbous eyes. Their shiny blue, multi-faceted surfaces return a thousand dim reflections of the men in the weak light. Her body shivers nervously, not so unlike a skittish horse. As things quiet down, it becomes apparent that she's panting. She takes a couple of side steps on her six skinny legs, and watches keenly for any sudden movements. Jackson doesn't make any sudden movements, at least. He watches the dragonfly wide-eyed, and slowly stoops to set his cooler back down. "Y-- yeah. Like Thea blowin' up City Hall Sugar," he agrees uncertainly. "I mean I -- she -- they arrested her." He looks at Sugar with a slight frown, then back to Micah. "-- Arrested /her/ but her folks --" He gestures towards the dragonfly. "Oh, gosh, honey-honey, she looks /beat/. An' scared an' she's prob'ly got nowhere to go --" The tone his voice is shifting towards is /definitely/ pleading. Even with a shift of frown back towards puppy-big eye. Micah’s brow furrows /deeply/ as he watches Sugar. “Oh, she looks like a horse that’s been rode /hard/. Wonder how long she’s been flyin’ without a rest? Dragonflies usually stick near water, yeah? I mean…she’s about a /sight/ too big to be sippin’ water outta dewdrops, but we could spray down the roof a bit for her or somethin’?” /Both/ hands rake their full complements of fingers through his hair. “She’s lucky she came through this part of the city in the middle of the night. Folks’d be callin’ the cops if they noticed her flyin’ ‘round. I mean…that might still be a problem. She could hide up here, but goin’ anywhere by daylight? Like as not get investigated. An’ cops ain’t got a history of treatin’ people’s pet /dogs/ kindly, much less…giant carnivorous insects.” Micah chews at his lower lip briefly. “Stayin’ here is prob’ly the best option for now, tuckered out as she is, but we should try to figure out somethin’ safer tomorrow night. Maybe up by the kids’ school?” Sugar cocks her head when she hears her name. Ticktickticktick go her pointy, skinny feet on the roof material as she trots forward suddenly. Apparently the smell of food, combined with the modicum of trust she has in the situation, has overridden her skittishness. She doesn’t go for a snatch and grab, but she does start nosing at Jackson’s cooler, and eyeing the big plate of leftovers Micah had gathered up. She’s a polite dragonfly! NudgeNUDGE. Flutter. EYE. “She ain’t much bigger’n a horse,” Jackson considers this carefully, “do’you think she’d fit in your van if we drove her out to -- woah hey,” his mouth curls reflexively up into a smile when Sugar trots closer. He lifts a hand, slowly, offering it out towards her much as he would a dog before stooping to open the cooler. “S’only some salad, honey-honey,” he says apologetically, “Let me get y’some water an’ then --” His nose crinkles. “-- Um. Carnivorous?” he echoes Micah’s words, “Uhhhm. The twins’ll have meat downstairs.” In the meantime he takes one of the plates from the table, skirting around to the side of the access door nearer the garden, where there is a faucet. He turns the water on, rinsing the plate off first and then filling it with a shallow layer of water, lukewarm after the hot day, and setting the plate down nearby Sugar. “Oh, yeah, sorry, Sugar.” Convenient that her name is /actually/ Sugar. “S’all veggie-veggie in here.” Micah nods at Jax’s somewhat-questioning repetition of ‘carnivorous’. “Mmhmm. Pretty sure they mostly eat other bugs? Good for mosquito control. Not that I wanna see a mosquito what would be more than an hors d’oeuvre for her /ever/.” He shudders visibly. Because /giant mosquitoes/. “If the boys got somethin’…uh…what’s like bugs? High protein content. Unseasoned. I got no idea how delicate dragonfly digestion is,” he admits with a sort of /disbelieving/ chuckle. “Don’t s’pose Thea mentioned what she /feeds/ her, eh?” Micah’s fingers go scruffing through his hair again. “Not sure she’d fit comfortable in the van, no. I mean…if I unscrewed all the containers off the walls first, maybe? Could rent an actual horse trailer... Don’t really know the requirements for safe transport of giant dragonflies on account of…uh. Don’t think nobody’s had cause to. Do that so much. An’ I mean, we’d have to get her down to it, regardless. Not sure how skittish she’d be like t’get in a confined space or nothin’.” Logistics, blech. Rather than pushing her forehead into Jackon’s outstretched hand, what with eye bulbs reaching almost all the way across the top, it seems her habit is to crane her neck up, and his hand under her chin. For scritches! Her chitinous skin is cool and smooth to the touch, halfway between shell, and leathery skin it’s fairly tough, yet pliable. And when her mouth lolls open for a moment while seeking scritches, it looks like her powerful jaws could crunch through some very... crunchy items. She doesn’t have a mouth full of sharp teeth exactly, but she is designed to go chomping into bug carapace. She doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation about trailers and such. She’s /very/ clever, but not sentient, really. Once the plate of water is set out though, she goes right to it, black tongue whipping down to lap it up at a prodigious rate. “Um -- I don’t know. Chicken probably. Thea didn’t mention --” Jackson’s forehead creases. “I’ll ask Ivan,” he decides, fingers scritching slowly at Sugar’s chin. “-- Might could /fly/ her out tomorrow but it’s. Far an’ -- if people see. I mean I could help people /not/ see but that’d be exhausting as anything.” His hand scuffs over the top of his head. “Should get food,” he decides, “an’ my phone. Mail Ivan. Um.” He watches Sugar drinking with a slight uncertain frown, and lifts one hand in a typical palm-out ‘wait’ gesture. “Sugar, you -- stay. Here, ‘kay? We’ll bring food. -- I don’t even got no idea,” he admits to Micah with a crinkle of his nose, “how /much/ food a bug this size needs.” Micah falls out of fretting for a moment just to stare wide-eyed at the dragonfly’s chin lift. “Ohgosh, she’s like a massive, chitin-covered kitten with wings!” The water lapping also results in some quiet staring, until Jax brings him back to the need to plan. “Chicken...yeah. I wonder if uncooked is safe? Or if... This is like the most confusin’ puppy t’follow a body home /ever/. Guess we could try to ask Ivan, though it’s kinda the middle of the night right now. An’...the Internet...in the meantime. Is prob’ly just gonna say t’feed them bugs.” He shakes his head as if to clear it, or at least stop himself from going in circles. “Maybe we could get her cloaked long enough t’get down into whatever mode of transport we get together an’ /then/ ferry her out?” Because dragonflies are like spaceships? “That would be less ridiculous for you to have t’pull off, at least. An’... Wow. Right. Carry this stuff down, get phones and foods, an’ then figure it out from there. Good plan.” He punctuates the statement with a resolute nod.